Phone Calls

A friend recently commented that I don’t much like speaking on the phone, that I say whatever I need to say and that’s mostly it. I had never thought about it, but I think she was right.

Maybe I inherited my father’s phone gene. I never remember him answering the phone if anyone else was home. His rule for long-distance calls was a three-minute limit. He was always a man of few words, but even fewer if they were costing him.

Whereas my mother carried on long, gossipy conversations with her friends, I never did. My boyfriend in 7th grade used to call every night and I found it annoying instead of endearing.

And now there are days when I never once answer the phone or make a call. And when I do call someone, it is with a purpose in mind, not just to shoot the breeze. That’s probably a sad comment on my lifestyle, but that’s just the way it is.

There are times when I long for friends that I might see or call virtually every day. But that would be a big departure from the reality of my somewhat solitary life.

The question I raise is whether these kinds of behavior are learned or inherited.